<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>What next? by MissMollyBloom</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29986839">What next?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMollyBloom/pseuds/MissMollyBloom'>MissMollyBloom</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Sherlolly Appreciation Week</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:02:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>639</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29986839</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMollyBloom/pseuds/MissMollyBloom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's post-TFP musings and a prompt-fill for Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2021 - "What do you need?" / "You".</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>What next?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For a certified, bona fide genius, Sherlock Holmes was remarkably stupid. Sure, he could deduce a cheating spouse with a glance and could tell you from one look at a man’s cuffs and trouser wrinkles just what type of adult entertainment he was addicted to, but when it came to his own mind, wants and desires, Sherlock was as simple as – well, Anderson. And that was saying something.</p><p>In fact, Sherlock mused as he sat in the back of a cab headed away from Musgrave hall, even Anderson was more astute than he was. Sherlock remembered the one shocking detail in Anderson’s theory of his fall, the one thing he never expected him to include, but the one thing that made sense of everything that had come before and everything that had happened since – Molly.</p><p>Her name reverberated through his mind as he finally had the space to process the events of the day.</p><p>Eurus had seen it, plain as day. Standing as she had been in the corner of the room, posing as John’s counsellor. What had Sherlock given away, what micro-gesture in response to John’s claims had Eurus read? Or was it simply John’s words, describing Molly as the one person who learned to see through Sherlock’s bullshit long ago? Or Sherlock’s tacit agreement, evidenced by Molly’s prompt knock at the door, borrowed ambulance in tow?</p><p>Eurus knew, well enough to orchestrate her little game of emotional vivisection, at least.</p><p>And Mycroft knew, too, his words, his admission that however hard it was to say those words to Molly. The brother who had always claimed that caring wasn’t an advantage showed more care in that moment than he ever had in the years beforehand.</p><p>So now Sherlock knew, too. Those words, now spoken, can’t be unsaid. Those feelings, now felt, pulsed through every heartbeat as the cab drew ever closer to her door.</p><p>What would be waiting for him there?</p><p>A warm greeting? Unlikely. Here was a woman who had begged him not to make her say it, whose worn and battered heart had no more strength for another blow. Not after Mary, not after his relapse, not after the years upon years of what he knew now to be his blind stupidity.</p><p>It took Eurus less than a minute to deduce what Sherlock was now realising after almost a decade.</p><p>It was evident in every late-night visit to her flat, more than his bolt-hole, it was his sanctuary.</p><p>It was clear in his use of Barts as his primary workspace, his home-from-home as Mycroft had once put it.</p><p>And it was obvious in his dying moments, shot as he had been by Mary’s precise bullet, that Molly was his lifeline – his life.</p><p>The cab stopped. There was no light in Molly’s flat. But in the 5am sky above London there was a glimpse of a new dawn.</p><p>He had a key, although the lock would have been no challenge for him to pick. Nevertheless, he knocked. He wanted her to choose to let him in. He hoped beyond hope that she would.</p><p>He stilled, stretching his hearing for any signs of movement within the flat.</p><p>Soon came the shuffle of sleep-stiff, socked feet down the hallway, accompanied by a swoosh of her robe as she tied it securely around herself.</p><p>She opened the door, all bed-ruffled hair, and eyes red not just from lack of sleep.</p><p>She wasn’t surprised to see him, but at his presence, she pulled the robe more tightly around herself. Her armour.</p><p>All words, explanations, declarations dried up on his tongue before they could pass his lips.</p><p>Mercifully, her question guided him, told him exactly what he needed to say to her.</p><p>“What do you need, Sherlock?” She asked.</p><p>“You,” He answered. And it was never more true than in that moment.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>